


Beautiful Kind of Pain

by losterthanlife



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 7x10 spoilers, 7x12 spoilers, Angst, Language, M/M, presumably AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 18:17:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8763856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losterthanlife/pseuds/losterthanlife
Summary: "But Mickey’s tired. He’s tired of a lot – of running, of losing – but most of all, of letting Ian walk this world having no clue just how much he means to people." In which Mickey makes a choice, and Gallavich says goodbye.





	

It’s as he stands there, the water from his freshly washed hair dripping down his back under his t-shirt, that he realizes he doesn’t really have a choice.

Ian’s sat there, his back to the bathroom in their shitty little motel room, the wallpaper hanging loose, grungy yellow glue exposed all across the wall. He’s twirling his phone in his hand. Without even looking at his face, Mickey knows the anguished look, the vacant stare. It’s the face he’s been wearing all day, ever since he listened to that voicemail from Fiona.

They’d gotten the news that morning, as they neared the border. It was to be the day they escaped, that they were home free. Mickey had it all lined up – his buddy was going to meet them with their fake IDs and show them the route to take. And they’d be home free. But Mickey, ever the fuck-up, had suggested Ian turn his phone on one last time before they smashed them and left their old lives behind for good. He wasn’t even watching Ian, his eyes on the others in the restaurant, always surveying…never safe, not until they were living _la vida Mexicano_ …

And then he heard Ian’s phone, smacking into the booth and dropping to the floor, and Ian was gone, his face pale.

_“The fuck was that for, Gallagher? Half that restaurant was watching your little drama show – what’s going on?”_

_“It’s Mon – my mom.” A single tear dripped from his swollen, red eyes, his cheeks pale and his freckles bolder than ever. “She died. She’s gone.”_

And so here they sat, twenty-five minutes from the border, in a little shithole motel that Mickey paid for with the last of their money (plus a twenty he’d slipped out of an old lady’s handbag that afternoon), waiting…for what, Mickey wasn’t even sure. Ian hadn’t really spoken, except for a simple “okay” when Mickey had suggested they take one more night, and maybe Ian could call Fiona, talk about things.

_“I’m not – no, Fiona.” Silence, a shift, and Mickey presses himself harder again the wall, praying Ian won’t realize the water isn’t running yet. He shouldn’t be doing this shifty, sneaky stuff – but he’s worried, and if Ian won’t talk to him, what choice does he have? “Because! Jesus, Fi – how many times was she never there for us when we were growing up? How many?” The mattress creaks, and Mickey can hear him pacing. “I’m staying where I am, okay? No – no – Fiona, listen to me. Mickey is family, too. More family than Monica’s ever been.” Mickey’s breath hitches, and the silence seems to last forever this time. “Well, I’m sorry, okay? But I made my decision when I left. I’ll call when I can.”_

Mickey closes the bathroom door, and Ian jumps, his phone – already cracked along the edge from the episode at the diner that morning – falling to the floor. “How was the shower?” Ian asks, his mouth twitching at the corners as he tries to contort himself into a role he doesn’t feel capable of filling anymore. Mickey’s cheerleader, his sport, his little ray of optimism as they raced across the country.

Mickey shrugs. “Cold as fuck and rusty, too. Surprised my hair doesn’t look like yours after that shit.”

Ian smirks, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Anyway, I talked to the guy. He can come get me tomorrow.” The singular nature of the word ‘me’ seems to shake something in Ian, who visibly flinches and looks at Mickey, lost. “You take the car when you’re ready, you’ll be back South Side before the end of the week.”

Mercifully, Mickey’s never seen Ian get shot before. Ian can’t quite say the same, what with the two bullets Mickey’s taken for him before – but if Mickey had to guess, the expression that crosses Ian’s face then, his mouth dropping open and his eyes going wide is exactly the one he’d wear if Mickey had used a .22 instead of his mouth to deliver the message.

“The fuck are you talking about?” Ian opens his mouth and closes it again a few times, his eyebrows drawing closer and closer until his next words fly out in anger. “You said we were in this together. The fuck happened to that?”

“That was before,” Mickey says, and suddenly he can’t quite look at Ian anymore. “It was fucking stupid anyway, you know that. You got a life, you got a family, you got your shit together. You have stuff to lose by doing this, and –“

“And you have _nothing_ to lose to by sending me away?” Ian asks, his words venomous.

But Mickey has everything to lose. Sending Ian away means stripping himself of the first, last, and only good thing Mickey’s known. But Mickey can’t say that, because this isn’t about him. Mickey’s used to losing.

“Fuck you, Milkovich.” Ian’s standing now, one hand pulling his duffel bag out from under the bed, his other scooping up the clothes he can reach. “You know, I actually fucking thought…fuck what I thought though, right?”

Mickey knows, in this moment, he has a choice. He can let Ian be mad, and let him storm out and take off and chalk it up to Mickey being the same coward he was the last time he let Ian walk away.

But Mickey’s tired. He’s tired of a lot – of running, of losing – but most of all, of letting Ian walk this world having no clue just how much he means to people. So Mickey closes the distance between them, his hands closing around Ian’s wrists and dragging them to stillness as his side, even while Ian struggles against him. “Will you just fuckin’ stop and listen to me?”

“Fuck you.”

And Mickey kisses him them, closing his eyes and trying to memorize every cell of Ian’s lips, the way their noses touch, the way the stubble on Ian’s chin sends chills down his spine.

“Let me stay,” Ian whispers against his lips.

Mickey draws his head back, his eyes taking in every detail of Ian’s face. “I can’t, kid.” Ian opens his mouth, but Mickey talks over his objection. “You have to know this wasn’t going to work. You got your shit together, you said so yourself. And they need you, Ian. Your family – you can’t go giving that away.”

“ _You’re_ my family,” Ian insists.

It’s at this moment that Mickey regrets not taking the route of just making Ian hate him. It would have been easier that way, rather than this stupid, puppy dog look Ian gives him now. Mickey takes his head between his hands, drawing their eyes together. “You will _always_ be my family. But I’ve been there, okay? And I know you crazy fuckin’ Gallaghers need each other – especially now. You were the closest to Monica, and you need to be there to say goodbye to her, Ian.”

Ian’s face burns under his hands and his eyes shine like glass. “But you have to go.”

Mickey nods, his thumb drawing Ian’s tears away from his eyes. “I do. I’m sorry, Ian – I can’t go back there, you have to know that.”

“Wait for me?” Ian asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mickey closes his eyes, his resolve weakening. His head drops forward, their foreheads touching. “I can’t stay here. They’ll find me. I only got one shot at this.”

“Just – wait for me. Wherever you go – I’ll come back and I’ll find you.” There might have been a time, long ago when Mickey spent so much time lying to himself, when this kind of begging would have disgusted him. But now, when that version of Ian and Mickey seems like centuries ago, Mickey finds his heart racing at the words.

“I promise,” Mickey says, kissing Ian once, twice, urgently. “I promise I’ll wait.”

His breath catches in his throat, because the truth is, unlike that day when he begged Ian to lie to him, to just say he’d wait – Mickey will wait. He’ll wait, and he’ll wait, but Ian – Ian won’t come. Mickey knows this time, with everything that’s happened between them, when Ian finally agreed to be the boy who ran with him, that Ian means it with every fiber of his being that he’ll come back and be with him. But Ian thinks Mickey means more than he does, and he’ll get back to the South Side – the days will turn to weeks, the weeks to months, and years will go by without Ian ever having the chance to get away. Life gets in the way – he’ll need to care for the family, work, take care of himself – and before long, he’ll forget who Mickey is.

Mickey swallows past a lump in his throat.

“I love you.” Ian’s hands grip Mickey’s shirt, twisting the cotton into knots, and Mickey wills himself not to crumble. The words are right on his tongue, and he knows that he still has time to take this back.

“I love you, Ian,” He replies, pressing his lips tightly together to stop the rest of the words. _Don’t go. I can’t lose you. I need you, too. Stay with me._

He’s proud of his EMT, the man who’s rescued him so many times. This man who’s standing before him, willing to give up everything he fought to get back after his mind played tricks on him. He’s beautiful and pure and everything Mickey never deserved but tried so hard to earn. And he’s _his_ , he’s willing to be all Mickey’s – but isn’t it just his luck, he can’t keep him anyway?

They stand there, foreheads together, breathing each other’s air, Ian’s hands entwined in Mickey’s shirt and Mickey’s arms snaked around his shoulders, unable to speak the pain burning through them. “You remember those beads I had that one time?” Mickey asks suddenly, smashing the void of silence between them.

Ian laughs, his breath sliding along Mickey’s neck. “The giant’s necklace?”

“Fuck you,” Mickey says through a smile. “I ordered them from this little shop in Tijuana. It’s this city, just south of California.”

Ian laughs again. “I know what Tijuana is.”

Mickey flicks at Ian’s neck playfully. “Fuck off. I just meant, maybe when you come down, we can go there, check it out.”

Ian pulls back, looking Mickey in the eyes like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Did you just ask me to rendezvous with you in an anal bead emporium in Tijuana?”

“Fuck that,” Mickey says, shoving at Ian playfully. “First off, I wouldn’t ask anyone to ‘rendez-any-fucking-thing’, I’m not a bitch. Secondly, it’s not an ‘emporium’.”

They laugh, even as the air feels like knives. They kiss, even as Ian’s lips beckon Mickey to lose all resolve. They fuck, even as Mickey’s eyes fill with tears he refuses to let fall. They sleep, even as Mickey prays to something he doesn’t even believe in to let this all be a bad dream.

And, in the morning, Mickey leaves, even while Ian’s still sleeping. He leaves the keys to the green car on top of his t-shirt, and steals an outfit out of Ian’s bag to wear.

He places one last kiss on Ian’s forehead, sliding his hair away from his eyes. “I love you,” he whispers, and then just like that, it’s over.

**Author's Note:**

> So first off, I know I've abandoned some other fics. Plainly and simply, I've not really felt much inspired by Shameless since they destroyed Gallavich in Season 5. But after last night's episode, I wanted to write something. Unfortunately, the spoilers for 7x12 seem to suggest the reunion is short lived. I have a million and one ideas of ways they could keep them together and bring Ian back for the last episode...but I don't believe they'll do that. And if they have to break up...I'd rather it be this way. Ian proved he loves Mickey, and we've known Mickey loves Ian...and I'd love to see that not get erased in some stupid breakup. Let it be mutual, let it be Mickey's urging, let it be anything but yet another time Mickey gets stomped on and Ian loses all sense of who he is.


End file.
